


That's What Friends Are For

by pjstillnoon



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-20 21:05:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3664956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pjstillnoon/pseuds/pjstillnoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mid season 2. Mackenzie gets hit by a car and then gets confused about which year it is... And whether she and Will are together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cloe](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cloe).



_“You’re not married?”_

_“No.”_

_“Girlfriend?”_

_“Well,” Will starts, thinks of Nina, who he is, technically, dating; but that doesn’t feel right, and then immediately thinks of Mac, who… “No.”_

_“What was the ‘well’?” Shelly asks, eyebrows raised._

_“Hmm,” Will shrugs again. He doesn’t even know how to begin to answer that in under the prescribed minute._

 

**********

Will leaves Ms Wexler’s class as she’s handing out the readings for the week and she gives him a slight smile and a nod as he goes. Yeah, he sat in on her economics class, but really, he spent most of the time thinking about Mackenzie. His ‘well’… He spends far too much time thinking about Mackenzie these days when he’s actually dating Nina; it’s just that everything seems to come back to her and he’s still at a loss as to what he’s supposed to do. With her. Or himself. Or them. He thinks he’s made a decision and then something happens to make him question it. He decides to date Nina, so he can move on, and then he has a conversation with Shelly Wexler about ‘well…’ and he’s thinking of Mackenzie, not Nina.

Maybe that’s because things with Mackenzie have been a little rough recently. Which may or may not be entirely his fault. He loses track. He’s done a few things that… and Mackenzie is so… Maybe he also owes her an apology tonight though. He’s not sure. He just knows things have been strained in the last month or so. It’s an odd dance. He picks at her until she gets mad at him and then he gets mad at her for being mad at him and then he thinks about what he’s actually done, and feels bad. And he can’t get her out of his head.

He tugs his phone from his pocket, as he strolls through the building, dials her number from the recently called contacts.

“Yeah?” Her voice is breathless and it strikes him hard for a second. So hard, he doesn’t say anything. “Will?”

“Yeah,” he finds his voice. He can hear a lot of background noise on her end. “Where are you?”

“I’m walking.”

“Why are you walking –?”

“It’s generally how I get around. That’s what God gave me legs for.”

They’re great legs too. Will remembers easily how they feel beneath his palms. But that’s not helping. “ _Where_ are you walking?” He clarifies.

“On the street.”

He sighs. He’s not in the mood for verbal sparring or her frustrating…  

“I’m walking home,” Mackenzie goes on. She must have heard the sigh.

“Why – you should get a cab. It’s not safe.”

“I’m perfectly safe,” Mackenzie replies haughtily. “There are people around. And I couldn’t find a cab when I left the office, so I decided to walk.”

“Try now.”

“To walk? I’m managing just –”

“For a cab,” Will says, stepping out of the building and heading onto the street himself.

“Will –”

“You live miles from – Where are you exactly? I’ll come and get you.”

She huffs. “Will, I’m fine.”

He waits. Nothing. He stops at the edge of the sidewalk. “Mackenzie?”

“I’m _standing_ in the street, hailing a _cab_ Will. Why did you call?”

“Uh, I wanted to talk to you. About something.”

“Yeah,” she says matter-of-factly. “I figured, seeing as you don’t call to just check in anymore – hang on a sec,” she says, sounding breathless again. The timbre of her voice completely stalls him for a second, all husky, and he’s thrown completely back in time by about six years to a darkened bedroom. Then he hears the loud blare of a horn and a thump, a screech, something shattering and then a second of silence before the call cuts out.

He stands still, phone pressed painfully into his ear, heart pounding, holding his breath; what the hell just happened? “Mackenzie?”

There’s no answer.

“Mackenzie?” He repeats, a little more desperately. He checks his phone but it indicates the call has ended. He tries calling her back but her phone just rings until voicemail. He doesn’t leave a message. He tries again, raising an arm as he sees a yellow cab come around the corner; he starts walking towards it. When he gets in, the cabbie asks him for the address. He stops, mouth dry; Mackenzie still hasn’t picked up her phone. He sets it to dial again, hoping she’s going to answer and be fine, while his gut sinks with each concurrent ring. He doesn’t actually know where Mackenzie was when they were talking. She said she was walking. Home, he assumes. She said she just left work. He gives the AWM address. He’ll start there and work is way back.

 

**********

He finally finds her two hours later by calling all the hospitals on Manhattan, then starting over on the list again when his initial inquiry comes up short. He makes the cabbie drive a route from the AWM building to her place, the one he thinks she’d take on foot, but they don’t find any ambulances or cop cars, or crowds gathered around a prone body. He tries three different routes before getting an emergency department who confirms Ms McHale was brought in to them. Will gives the cab driver the new address and frets at the frustration of not being told anything; he’s not family (obviously not her emergency contact either) and no ED nurse in their right professionalism would give out that kind of information, no matter how he tries. He does try.

All he knows is that she was brought in, and they’re treating her. Which means she is, at least, not dead. By the time he gets to New York Presbyterian (which is just around the corner from the AWM building) Mackenzie has already been taken up to the ward, and he is allowed to see her now, even though it’s outside visiting hours, because she asked for him. She _asked_ for him. It makes his heart pound, even though he tries to rationalise it. They were just on the phone when she was hit by a car, so she probably just wants him to know that she’s all right, they’re friends, and she doesn’t have family in the city. But of all the people she knows, of all the people she could call (Jim, Sloan), she asked for _him_.

She’s in the bed furthest from the door, on the right, the only occupied bed in her row. There are two other women on the opposite side, but their lights are out and the curtains are drawn and Will doesn’t care to notice if they’re awake or not. He walks down the row in long strides; Mackenzie still has her light on. He comes around the bed, heart rate high, but she’s asleep. She looks ok. She has a cracked rib and a concussion, apparently, but aside from a graze on her chin that he can see, there doesn’t appear to be a mark on her.

He stands, looks down at her sleeping, his heart pounding, and his head telling him that she’s there and she’s fine. She actually looks peaceful. She’s nice like this. Quiet. He used to like watching her sleep; it seems such a juxtaposition compared to the sometimes manic whirlwind Mackenzie. He’s reaching out a hand for her (doesn’t know why) when she opens her eyes and looks at him.

“Billy,” she murmurs and takes his hand before he can withdraw it, before he can step back and close off and put up his walls. “Hey.” She tugs on his hand, drags him down into a hug that startles him so much he doesn’t resist out of it.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she murmurs against his ear, her breath a warm tingle. Will swallows hard. “God,” she sounds choked, and she shudders against him but he can’t tell if she’s laughing or crying. He pulls back a little to see, and she lets him go, but only so far. And then she kisses him.

Full on plants a kiss on his slightly open mouth.

She curls her fingers around his ear and draws back but he just stares at her dumbfounded.

What the _hell_ is she doing?

“Can you believe I got hit by a cab? In New York?” She continues softly; talkative but at a low volume. She lets him go and he straightens up, staring, but she keeps his hand, and he’s too surprised to think to take it back. “That seems such a tourist thing to happen. And what are we doing in New York anyway, Billy? Are we here for a story?” She squints at him. “Or a romantic weekend. Which I’ve just ruined. Did you talk to the doctor? I’ve got a cracked rib and a concussion but I’m going to be fine. They want to keep me overnight for observation but otherwise – are you ok?”

Will blinks at her. Now that she’s animated, he can see a gauze patch on the right of her forehead, by her hairline. “Uh, yeah,” he says into the silence. “You were hit by a cab?”

“Yeah. No. I mean, yes, I’m not sure what I was doing but I think I was hailing a cab? I got hit by a guy on a bicycle and he knocked me into the street and then the cab – that’s what a witness said. I’m a bit confused…” she frowns. “I’m not sure what – are we in New York for a story?”

“Uh,” Will stalls. She’s confused. She has to be more than confused if she thinks… She’s talking to him like they’re together. Like its six years ago and they’re still together. Like Brian never happened. Or more, that she never told him about Brian. Because no matter what point in their timeline she currently _thinks_ it is, Brian has still happened. She kissed him and hugged him and she’s holding his hand. She asked for him.

“Do I look awful?” she asks softly.

“No. You look fine. I’m just going to – I didn’t speak to your doctor before. I’m just going to go do that,” he slips his hand from hers and walks quickly back down the row.


	2. Chapter 2

Mackenzie sits up in the hospital bed, staring out of the window. There’s not much to see apart from the grey shroud of clouds and the buildings across the street. She picks at a hang nail, worrying it, because she has no way of cutting it yet and it’s bothering her. She had a terrible night’s sleep. The nurses came to do observations every three hours with a special set of questions for her (do you know your name, where you are, what day it is, what _year_ it is) because Will went and reported their conversation, and they were worried that she had brain damage; amnesia. She might have. But she’s fine now. She remembers everything correctly (except for the actual accident). It didn’t come back to her in a big rush of images. She just woke up and knew how everything should be. However, she also remembers feeling confused, kissing Will, and wondering why he was staring at her like she was speaking another language.

She kissed him.

She kissed him and he stared at her. And sure, yeah, she was acting a little oddly, but he just stared at her. So there’s that. And there’s also the bit where he ran off to the nurses and then left the hospital never to return. So that speaks volumes.  

“Hey.”

Mackenzie turns her head. Will’s approaching. “Hi,” she greets back, surprised, but trying not to show it.

“How are you feeling?” He asks cautiously, placing a bag that looks suspiciously like one of her travel bags on the foot of her bed. He looks nervous. But he’s here.

“Oh, you know, like I was hit by a bicycle and then by a New York taxi cab,” she responds flippantly. He gives a nod, but he’s still looking at her like he expects her to break into song and dance, or something else equally odd, at any moment. “They’re letting me go home.”

“Yeah?” He raises his eyebrows and tucks his hands into his jean’s pockets; not a typical Will move and she can tell right away that he’s uncomfortable. He’s probably waiting for the bit where she tries to kiss him again or insinuates they’re together and, _clearly_ , that makes him feel uneasy. He’s wearing her favourite navy blue pullover; she loves the way it brings out his eyes.

“Just waiting on the paper work,” Mackenzie adds, staring at his hands, then realising it might look like she’s staring at his groin. She flicks her eyes to the hang nail (which she’s wrecked).

“Is that safe?”

“Paperwork?” Mackenzie looks over at him again. “Well the risk of a paper cut –”

“Going home,” Will interrupts.

“I’m fine.”

“I brought some of your…” he trails off and looks at his shoe, then back at her. “I didn’t know how long they might keep you so I thought you might need some things. Toiletries. Clothes.”

Underwear, she doesn’t hear him say, but it’s there between them.

“How did you get into my place?”

“Your building manager is a fan.”

She raises her eyebrows at him, feels the gauze and tape bunch. “Who knew?”

“Is that ok?”

“I don’t really care _what_ she watches on –”

“That I got some of your things,” Will says flatly.

“Yeah,” she says, but actually, she’s not sure if it is ok. He went through her underwear. Without her permission. Which isn’t to say he hasn’t seen her underwear before. He’s even seen _her_ in her underwear, and also _not_ in her underwear, and this train of thought has _completely_ derailed. She tries to focus on something else before she starts thinking about him in _his_ underwear.

“I didn’t know they were letting you go home,” Will adds.

“It’s ok,” she says, and she does mean it, because, awkwardness aside (and she doesn’t _really_ care that he’s seen her underwear) he was just trying to be thoughtful. It _was_ thoughtful. Because her other puppy, Jim, is out of town.

_You have this way of doing things._

“You don’t need a sleep buddy? A – when you sleep – someone to wake you. Make sure you’re not…” He trails off, looks helpless and flustered, gestures with a hand in lieu of words.

“I’m fine,” Mackenzie says firmly. “I don’t need anyone to wake me periodically.” Ugh, that would drive her nuts, especially after being woken every few hours last night. She’s going to shower, and get some unbroken sleep as soon as she gets home. “Will, about last night.”

He looks… stricken and it makes her feel nervous, the air thick around them.

“I’m sorry for kissing you,” she starts out on a shaky breath, not quite meeting his eye, but being unable to look away at the same time; her eyes flicker to his, then to a shoulder, back to his eyebrows. She almost doesn’t say it. She could leave it hanging between them. But god, their tentative bridge of peace will collapse if they load it with any more of their emotional luggage. “I was just confused about – I’m not anymore. I completely understand that we’re not – And I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Will says and she stops. Then there’s only silence between them. Heavy, awkward silence and Mackenzie cringes on the inside that that is all they have. Or maybe not. She doesn’t know. What would he have done if she had been permanently trapped in six years ago?

“Thank you,” she says. “For the offer.”

“The offer?” Will asks softly and she notices that he’s standing a good three feet away. Well outside of her reach. It kicks her in the shins.

“To make sure I didn’t pass into a coma in my sleep,” Mackenzie answers absently, looking at his shoes.

“Well.” He pauses, and then so deliberately says, “That’s what friends are for.”

Yeah, she gets it. They’re just friends. Way to beat her over the head with it when she already has a headache (and a fantastic bruise).

“Will you be ok?”

“They said I’d be fine,” Mackenzie looks up at him again. “Nothing that won’t heal in it’s own time.”

“Going home,” Will clarifies. “By yourself.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Mackenzie answers dully, looking down at her left index fingernail, the one she’s shaved several millimetres of nail off of, ragged and rough.

“You can call me if you need something,” Will says.

She looks at him again. “Can I?”

“Yes,” he says, and he doesn’t look so unsure anymore. Mackenzie nods and she wants to say ‘I need _you’_ but she doesn’t, because she’s not allowed to anymore. She’s not allowed to need him, and she’s certainly not allowed to _say_ that she does. She figures he won’t want to hear it. He wants to be done with her. He’s made that pretty clear. Despite excursions to her underwear drawer.

That’s what _friends_ are for.

Will gives a nod of finality and then turns to walk away, freeing his hands from their protective home in his jean’s pockets. She watches him go and thinks about last night when he came to see her and she thought that he still loved her. It’s not the kiss she gets hung up on, or having him close when she hugged him, or how wonderful he smells. Nor is it how big and warm his hand felt in hers when she held it (or how he didn’t recoil from her touch). What she thinks about is the overwhelming relief she felt when she opened her eyes and he was standing there. Just seeing him, standing there, for her (and looking worried, not that she did that intentionally). Because she feels like so long as she has Will, then everything is all right. But her head hurts, and her rib aches even over the pain medication and she doesn’t have Will. She doesn’t have him at all. It hurts more than being hit by a bicycle and then a New York taxi cab.

It feels like being flattened by a freight train.

“Ready to go home?” A nurse walks into the ward with a piece of paper and a smile.

“No,” Mackenzie answers dully. Home alone. Sans Will. Sans anybody. The nurse gives her an odd expression. “Yes,” Mackenzie says brightly, shakes the hair from her eyes; fakes it. “Let’s send me home.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Mackenzie wakes to a pounding on her door. Not a casual knock, or a polite tap, but an insistent and desperate pounding that has her heart thumping her out of bed. Her body throbs as she walks through her apartment, quickly, but hampered by the injuries she gained the night before. She feels achy in places she didn’t notice yesterday. She puts a hand on her rib, as if she can hold it back together and pulls open the door. Will’s standing there, fist raised, ready to bang again, and he kind of looks surprised.

“Will?” Mackenzie greets with a frown. She squints at him, her head hammering. She turns away without an answer, nauseated, and goes straight for the kitchen and a glass of water and prescription strength pain killers.

“Are you ok?” Will calls after her. She hears the door pop shut.

She swallows tablets before trying to answer him. By which time he’s standing anxiously in her kitchen doorway.

“I’ve been trying to call you,” Will goes on.

Mackenzie gives him another frown, wondering why he’s so desperately trying to get in touch with her. “I have no idea where my phone is right now. Probably in a gutter, if someone hasn’t – Don’t worry,” she raises a hand to forestall the reprimand she anticipates. “I thought to have it remotely shut down, so even if someone finds it, it’s going to be useless to them.”

“That’s not – I was worried about you.”

“Charlie told me to not come in today, so I took him at his word and–” She stops abruptly, processing what he’s said. “I’m fine,” she blurts, staring at him.

Will takes a step into the room. “When you didn’t answer…”

He came running.

She watches him, not sure what to do or say next. She’s suddenly very aware that she’s wearing not a lot; skimpy camisole and tiny shorts.

“I’ve been calling…”

Mackenzie picks at the water glass, her nail merely skimming off the smooth concave surface.

“You’re ok?” Will asks cautiously.

“I’m –” Mackenzie starts. _I didn’t die in my sleep._ “Fine,” she finishes lamely. “I have a headache.”

“To be expected when you have a concussion.”

“You’d know.”

He nods. “Sleep is a good way to –”

“What I was doing when you knocked my door down,” Mackenzie finishes.

“Sorry,” he says genuinely. And then he seems to get annoyed with her, “I just wanted to make sure you were ok. You didn’t answer your phone so I–”

“Yeah,” she cuts him off loudly. She doesn’t really want to hear this. It’s not fair that he… reels her in and then cuts her off again. He can’t act like he cares and then doesn’t care a second later. It’s confusing. It’s _really_ confusing when she’s concussed.

“Ok, well, fine,” he repeats, his tone sharp. He looks frustrated. He’s annoyed she’s not _so_ grateful he came running to check on her? But she can’t do that either, be grateful; it hurts.

He turns to go but Mackenzie stops him. “What would you have done? If I didn’t… If I continued to think– You and I–”

“I don’t know,” Will interrupts, looking away.

“Would you have told me the truth?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, eyes back on her. So, he _does_ know.

She wants to ask him what the rest of the message said; her stomach tight with knowing and not knowing at the same time. She thinks she can discern what it said, but until he tells her, she’ll never really know.  

“Because –” Mackenzie starts, about to fill in the blank.

“Because Brian still happened and you might have told me again one day and then I couldn’t pretend anymore that it never happened. And even if you did refrain from telling me this time around I would _still_ know and then I would also know that you were –”

“Lying to you,” Mackenzie finishes, looking down at her bare feet, her heart aching with it. There is absolutely no way she can ever take it back. Ever. Not unless she gets someone to hit _Will_ over the head. Then maybe she’d have a chance; reset time, pave over the past. She fights the urge to go and hug him, to comfort him as much as it would comfort her, but that only reminds her of what she’s lost.

“Thanks for stopping by,” she says dully, flickering her eyes in his direction (he’s staring at her) and then at the bench.

“Mackenzie,” Will starts, and she hates the tender way he says her name. It makes the aching worse.

She raises a hand to her head (she removed the gauze yesterday), “I’d really just like to go back to bed.”

“Get a new phone,” Will says.

“I’ll get right on that,” she responds sardonically, with no intention of leaving her apartment today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe online shopping.

“Call me when you get a new number.”

Mackenzie looks up at him.

“So –” Will starts, a hand gesturing to fill in the gap of words he apparently can’t get out of his mouth.

_So I know you’re ok._

“So I know when you’re coming back to work,” he says.

“I probably won’t be in for the rest of the week,” Mackenzie shoots back.

“Fine,” Will gripes. He walks away and she hears the door slam on his way out. Thanks a lot; he knows she has a headache. She goes back to bed, doesn’t really sleep, thinks about Will, tries not to think about Will. Later, in the afternoon, there’s another knock at her door. She throws on a t-shirt and answers it. It’s a courier with a parcel and when she opens it, it’s a brand new Blackberry. No card. But she knows it’s from Will; because _that’s what friends are for_ , she thinks bitterly. She leaves it in the kitchen and goes back to bed.

He can wait. He’s making her wait. So she can make him wait.

Because that’s what friends are for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. And thanks to those who left kudos and comments. I appreciate it :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KendraBC requested a little bit more to this...

Mackenzie doesn’t hear from Will again for the rest of the weekend. Not that she was particularly counting on hearing from him, but after he had the phone delivered she thought it might just be a matter of time before he came knocking on her door again to demand she give him the number (he demands so much, and she gives it all). But no, nothing from him all weekend, and maybe she would have liked it if he chased her, just a little. And then the self-loathing reminds her that she doesn’t deserve to be chased but with no end in sight of the penance, and atonement, the ache of her heart and her head leaves her feeling nauseated and depressed.

Charlie rang to see how she was doing and she told him she’d be back in on Monday. He tried to talk her down but she insisted she was fine, and besides that, she promises to take it easy. With Jim gone, the newsroom has been left in the hands of Dantana, and it’s not that she doesn’t think him incapable of handling _News Night_ for a few days while she’s nursing a concussion, it’s just that…there’s something else about him she’s not quite sure about. (And Charlie might think that too, given that he didn’t protest _too_ hard when she insisted she was coming back.)

Jim emailed as soon as he found out ( _Jesus, Mac, are you all right?)_ and Maggie and Sloan have been over, to check up on her, she thinks. They bring a fruit basket and a card signed by everyone, and a bottle of wine, to be consumed when she’s feeling better, of course. It’s sweet, but as the weekend draws to an end Mackenzie can’t help but think about Will (the one person she really would have liked to have seen this weekend), and wonder why he hasn’t been back. Or maybe it’s just that he’d done his duty in coming to the hospital and now he’s passed it off to the others. Or maybe he’s pissed at her because she hasn’t called him with her new number. She frets over her decision to not call him, and of course, as more time passes, it becomes harder to pick the Blackberry up and make first contact. Inevitable reprimands for not doing it sooner float through her inner dialogue, and she’s tired. She’s tired of fighting with him. Of it being a struggle. And then she has fleeting thoughts of it maybe being time for her to get over him, to move on, and let it go. Just be friends. How long is she going to wait for him to forgive her anyway? What if he never can? What if he never does? And what if he doesn’t love her anymore?

She’s not a doormat.

And she never was sure what the voicemail said, even if she did suspect.

She didn’t come back for this, to win Will back, but it is what’s kept her here longer than she might normally endure. Although, she did manage to stay embedded for more than two years, if only just. Nothing like a near death experience to put things into perspective again. The stabbing brought her home. And now she’s been hit by a car. Maybe not quite as extreme, but still, she’s forced to slow to stop and when she does, she finds herself taking stock of her life. It comes down to this, and she’s know it for a while now, even if it still danced on the edge of her consciousness: it’s Will, or no one. He’s the love of her life and try as she might, she can’t be with anyone else but him. It should be harrowing to think or feel that way, but its Mackenzie’s normal. She’s in love with Will and has been for years and doesn’t think she’ll ever stop; she doesn’t know how. A warzone wasn’t enough to make her forget (she didn’t come back for him, but now that she’s here…). She meets nice men, men who are perfectly adequate and feels nothing for them, because, unfortunately, they all get compared to Will. And they can’t live up to the way he makes her feel. They can’t live up to him at all. Even on his worse days, when he can be deliberately hurtful.

She can’t have Will, so what should she do next? The tipping point is coming rapidly before her. Or that could be the pain mediation she’s just taken. With her head thumping, she lays on the couch, her arm over her eyes. It’s a long day when she’s miserable and has nothing to do. She thinks she imagines a knock on her door. When there’s more pounding half a minute later she’s pretty sure it’s not just her head.

It’s Will. For a second she’s thrilled to see him (he came to see her). And then she feels guilty for not calling him (look, he had to come _all the way_ down here again) before she feels curious, “What are you doing here?”

Will worms his way inside, “Can we talk?”

Mackenzie closes the door and turns to him, confused, “Uh, sure?” She looks up at him with curiosity and when he waits on her she suggests they go sit. He follows her. Closely. She thinks she feels the brush of his hand against the small of her back, but she’s too scared to turn and look in case she’s imagined it; it hurts more that way. “Is it about work?” She asks as they clear her living room doorway.

“No,” Will answers. He ushers her to sit, hovering almost. Mackenzie perches on the edge of the couch and watches as he takes a seat next to her, in the middle of the couch, facing her, so their knees press together. “Actually, I came to tell you something. Or ask you something.”

Her first thought is that it’s bad news, because she can’t figure out why else he would be here.

He lays his fingers on her knee, and her heart starts to immediately thump. Which also makes her rib ache. He looks up her, blue eyes sincere, and watches her a moment, as if checking to make sure she’s listening. Her attention is rapt. But her patience is short. She opens her mouth to say something and he blurts out instead: “I love you.”

“What?” Mackenzie’s mouth diverts to utter one word.

“I mean, I still love you,” Will repeats, his tone matter-of-fact. “And I know the last two years have been… messed up,” he settles on lamely, and he breaks eye contact for a moment. That’s how Mackenzie knows this is entirely sincere; he’s no longer angry or distant with her. He’s nervous, and he’s usually anxious when he has a lot riding on something. “And too long. I’m sorry for my part in that. I know you’ve been waiting around for me to… forgive you and you’ve put up with a lot – way too much. I’ve been a jerk, most of the time.”

“Will,” Mackenzie tries to interject; she still feels responsible. The fingers on her knee raise in a stop gesture, and then curl around her patella more tightly.

“The thing is, I don’t want to waste any more time. You know, in the hospital, I realised that, if things had been worse, you could have been…” He blinks at her and because he doesn’t want her to interrupt, she doesn’t being to guess what he’s going to say. This is all pretty bizarre anyway. Yesterday he still hated her (maybe. They have gone through undulating periods of closeness and distance) and now he’s confessing that he still loves her. _Still_ loves her. “You could have died,” he says softly.

“I could have died in Peshawar,” she interjects helplessly, and he didn’t come running to confess he still loved her then.

“I know,” he almost growls. “But I didn’t –” He hesitates and stops. “I read your emails.”

Mackenzie blinks at him. “You said you didn’t –”

“Yesterday. I read them yesterday.”

“All of them?” She asks weakly. She sent hundreds. Thousands maybe.

“Yes. All of them. And I get it, now, what you said, about us just dating in the beginning, when you were –” He breaks off and swallows hard. Mackenzie feels her cheeks get hot. “We hadn’t said we were exclusive and you’re right, we weren’t serious yet and so – when you told me, I heard you say it was more than a year before but, it felt like you were telling me it was the week before.”

Mackenzie finally looks away, still ashamed in a way, but mostly, that she broke his heart. Maybe she didn’t really cheat, just dated two men at the same time, but she still broke his heart. Her eyes flicker down to her hands, which are curled against her thighs, not that far from Will’s hand on her knee, and she could just move an inch that way and be touching his thumb, which could be the most she’s touched him in a year.

“Mackenzie, I hear you when you say –”

“I’m sorry I told you,” she starts.

Will shakes his head at her to cut her off, then gives her his best earnest expression. “Honesty is –”

“A brutal thing.”

“Yeah,” he huffs out air from his lungs and gives a ghost of a smile. “But still. I’d have to take honesty over –”

“I didn’t want you to hear it from Brian. What if he told you? It would have been so horrifically _worse._ And I knew you were going to get down on one knee –”

“You knew that?” Will cuts in, surprised.

“Strongly suspected,” Mackenzie clarifies a little sheepish, and glances down at their hands again.

“You’re right. If I had heard it from Brian – not that I took it that well from you –” Will sighs. “It doesn’t matter now. I just want to move on. With you. I want you and I to move on. Together. I love you. I love you and I want to be with you and the thought of not having you in my life again is painful and nauseating and I’m done with wasting any more time.”

“You said that bit,” Mackenzie interrupts, mostly to stop herself from bursting into tears.

“That’s because I mean it,” Will gives a quick pout of his mouth, the flicker of an eyebrow. His hand shifts slightly on her leg, curling even further around her knee so his fingers are digging into the underside, where she’s sensitive and she has to fight down the urge to squirm in delight. Her eyes are drawn to the contact for a second (his hand is so warm) and then she looks up at Will again, his blue eyes intense on her, she has to take a moment to breathe, tell herself this is really happening. “If you could just… give me another chance. Is it too late for another chance?”

“What about Nina?” Mackenzie almost whispers, her heart still thumping away.

Will frowns but he doesn’t look away. “I broke it off with her. I don’t want – I want you. I love _you_ , Mackenzie. It’s you. It has to be you.”

Mackenzie studies him with a slight frown, her eyebrows up but drawn together. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Will cuts in, shifting on the sofa cushion so he’s closer. “Yes, I’m sure. I’m so sure. I’ve been in love with you since forever and I can’t stand not kissing you anymore, and being able to hold you. I really want to kiss you.”

“Then you should,” drops out of Mackenzie’s mouth on a breath. Will shifts further forward, closing the distance between their lips smoothly, pressing his mouth against hers firmly. His hand slides up her thigh and she grabs at the front of his shirt as she lets him in. The smell of him washes over her and her eyes flicker unbidden beneath closed lids as it rushes to her brain. She thinks she gives a tight moan in the back of her throat, but that could have been him; she’s not really sure she’s not having an outer-body experience. She feels him push against her as he tries to get closer and the hand on her thigh shifts to her rib. Pain shoots through her chest and she pulls away with a cry.

“Shit sorry,” Will pulls back abruptly, his expression concerned (it’s been too long since he looked at her with such care). “Shit, I forgot –”

“It’s ok,” Mackenzie says, trying to breathe through the residue of pain radiating out from the point of the break. He moves far enough away that her hands pull from his jersey and she moves her left to the site of the break, holding it; it doesn’t really help.

“Have you taken everything you can?” He asks gently, leaning in close, his hand hovering near hers, where it’s pressed to her side.

“Yeah,” she winces. “It’s fine.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says softly. She looks up at him and he’s watching her intently, his blue eyes gazing deep into hers. She gets the impression he’s not just talking about her rib. “Mackenzie, I’m sorry that I hurt you,” he repeats.

“I know,” she says lightly but he shakes his head slightly.

“I really didn’t – I think we can turn this around. If we can just work through some things, and I know we probably need to –”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she tells him. “It really doesn’t,” she adds with a slight laugh, reaching to take his hand; giddy with him. “I think that yeah, it might take some _time_ , but I want to move on as well. I love you too –” she’s not sure what else she was going to add, but it’s lost when Will smiles at her. He beams, and his eyes get bright, and god, the smile on his face, he looks _so damn happy_ , it makes her laugh, and smile back stupidly, it bubbling up out of her stomach.

Will uses his left hand to cup around her jaw and ear, drawing her mouth carefully closer to his, and kisses her again. “Thank God,” he whispers against her lips, making her smile, before kissing her again. She can feel the tension in him, but his kisses are soft, worshipping; passion tampered by knowledge of her injuries.

“If I wasn’t in pain right now I’d take you to bed,” Mackenzie murmurs against him when he breaks for air.

Will chuckles, pressing his forehead against hers, his fingers pressing lightly into the side of her skull, his thumb framing her chin. “I’d happily take you up on that, when you’re feeling better, but I still want to go to bed –”

“Will, I know you know what it’s like to have broken ribs –” Mackenzie starts to protest gently.

“To sleep,” he finishes. He pulls back further to look at her. “Just to sleep and maybe to talk. I want to hold you tonight and then basically be anywhere you are for the rest of my life.”

Mackenzie finds herself staring into his eyes. There’s nothing but adoration in there and it makes her breath stutter a little. “I’d really like that. Except for maybe the _stalking_ bit.”

Will chuckles again. And that makes her smile too. She can’t remember the last time she actually saw him happy, that wasn’t drug induced. “And I want to look after you. I know you don’t need looking after,” Will keeps talking. “But, I kept thinking about you here by yourself this weekend and –”

“You could have come over.”

“I did, remember? It didn’t look like you wanted me to stay.”

“I didn’t think you _cared_.”

Will purses his lips, looks down briefly at his knee. Mackenzie squeezes his hand so he raises his eyes back at her. “And now I know better, and I _want_ you to take care of me. Independence be _damned_. I hurt. I’d love it if someone looked after me. Even better if it’s _going_ to be you.” She checks his expression, to see if he believes her.

“It’s going to be me,” Will tells her. He gets to his feet. “So what can I do? Have you eaten?”

“No,” she admits. He tries to pull her gently to her feet, but raising that arm too high makes her rib shiver pain through her side again. Instead, he hovers while she stands herself, and then half-follows her, half-walks with her, to the kitchen. He sits her at the breakfast bar and asks her what she wants to eat. “You can order in if you want to.”

“I’ll cook,” Will almost scoffs. “What’s in your fridge?” He goes to it and pulls the door open. Mackenzie sits and watches him, and for a moment it’s strange, to have him in her kitchen, going through her things, offering to cook her dinner, domestic, like nothing has changed between them, like it’s about five years ago and she hasn’t ruined it, and he’s come over to cook her dinner like it’s any other date. And she supposes that now, it _is_ just him coming over to cook her dinner, like it’s any other date. Or something. They’ll figure it out, she’s sure. She’s sure of Will.

Will turns back to her. “Where’s your bacon?”

“I don’t _have_ _any_ _bacon_ ,” Mac responds indignantly.

Will puts his hands on the bench and leans on them, hanging his head. He sighs, then looks up at her again. “I’m going to get you bacon. Do you want anything else while I’m out?”

Mackenzie shakes her head. He comes around the bench and places his hands around her ears, tucking his fingers into her hair. She looks up at him entirely enthralled. He leans down and kisses her softly. “Stay right here,” he murmurs against her mouth.

“I have to go to the loo,” she responds sweetly.

Will kisses her again. “Just don’t change your mind when I’m gone, ok?”

“I won’t,” she says lightly, and then it wells up in her again, the part where Will’s knocked on her door to confess is love and they’re standing/sitting in her kitchen kissing. She giggles and Will pulls back to look at her questioningly. “I love you Billy,” she tells him, grinning stupidly.

He smiles back, slowly, until it’s wide and open and delighted, his face transformed into pure joy. “I love you too.”


End file.
